A Trip to the Park

A simple trip to the park does not go as plan.

 The morning sun rises just above the trees casting long shadows over the snow covered ground.  With the springtime just right around the corner it seems old man winter decided to stage one last protest against it.

As is custom for one who has lived in this area for as long as I, I am more or less obligated to complain about the bipolar seasons. It is not uncommon for snow to show it's frigid haze any time between fall and mid spring.  As a matter of fact,  it seems to be mandatory for the winter to put up one last great hurrah every year. That being said,  just a mere three days ago it was a balmy 80 degrees out and now we are once again flirting with below freezing temperatures. One cannot simply get use to it no matter the number of years spent here.

  The days pass and I grow more and more reluctant to stay indoors. Since it is now the weekend I find my boredom to be quite overwhelming. I need to find something of interest to do or I may soon realize my sanity to be closer to gone.   Despite the chill outside I refuse to play hermit for a moment longer. I decide I'm going to take a long walk and perhaps find some enjoyment along the way.

  Being already dressed quite warmly I simply put on my boots and jacket and head for the front door. As I go to make my exit I am met from the other side of the door by my mother returning from grocery shopping.

Looking slightly startled,  as am I, she hands me a large bag.  "There's more in the trunk and the cat food is in the back seat." She continues her stride right passed me and into her bedroom. With a loud thud the bedroom door closes and I am standing bag in hand with not a clue where any of the items should be placed.

My mother has quite the habit of delegating work to me without the slightest sincerity being shown. In her mind not a please nor a thank you should ever escape her lips. Sure would be a shame if one were to tell her rightly where to go with such an attitude.  Then again she did pick me up a a few candy bars. I guess I can play the part of the loyal son just this once.

  After putting the groceries away,  most likely in places they don't belong,  I'm finally on my way out the door  "Where are you going?" A tiny voice behind me utters.

I turn to see my little sister intently staring at me.  "I'm going for a walk. If mom ask I'll be back shortly."

A look of mild irritation washes over her face like I just asked her to spend the afternoon sorting dirty socks and underpants to be put in the washing machine. "No! I'm going with you." What gumption one must have to invite themselves on somebody else's walk.

"You're not invited." I snarled. Her look of irritation quickly changed to that of pure rage.  This would be a good time to mention my sister is very quick to anger.  Her name actually means great fiery one.  It most certainly fits.

  "You're a jerk! You can't tell me what to.  I'm going whether you like it or not." She clearly had made up her mind as she is already putting on her shoes.  

"I said no.  I want some time to think and I can't do that with an annoying runt like you tagging along." I was quite sure that statement would send her over the edge but she is beyond caring about what I say at this point.

She starts to push me through the door as if this walk was her plan the whole time.  "Let's go to the park!" She announced with great glee. "You can push me on the swings. What are you waiting for?" She's so full of energy and there isn't much I can do to avoid the situation.  She starts running ahead of me all the while looking back.  "C'mon fathead!" I try to protest but my words fall upon deaf ears.

As we near the park I see a group of teenage boys in the distance sitting on the metal bleachers of the basketball court. I see plumes of smoke rise up from the area. A gust of wind blows through and carries towards us a faint smell of skunk. There are all manners of riff raff living in this neighborhood so I immediately recognize the situation at hand as a hoodlum gathering. The boys are all passing around a brown paper bag and each taking turns putting it up to their mouths.  A very cheap liquor no doubt to go along with the blunt they are not so subtlety smoking.  They appear to be very rowdy and in the broad of day have no qualms with their illegal actions.

Since moving here I've noticed the police drive through the neighborhood and stop quite often at this park. Yet not once have I ever so much as seen one cop try to put a stop to the actions of these young men.  It's almost become a daily occurrence during the warm months for these illegal activities to occur here. I was sure the park would be abandoned as it is so cold.  Much to my dismay, I am incorrect.

Now I've grown up attending the inner city school, meaning since elementary school I've been witness to this type of behavior. To be more specific,  many of my close friends would partake in such activities on the side lines while I'd practiced my basketball skills. I never once had the inkling to join in with what they were doing.  Even though the offer was always on the table, I just had other interest.  Now my friends being just that,  they respected my choice of not joining in, just as I respected their choice to partake in certain illegal substances. Even though I take pride being clean of mind and body, it's not my place to judge others on their actions,

I bring this all up as it pertains to my situation in this new neighborhood. As I've said before,  for whatever reason,  I've grown quite popular around this place.  A lot of it I believe has to deal with the fact that I'm quite good at basketball and due to my previous school,  the majority of my close friends are black. As the young men in this neighborhood attend this mostly white, well to do school,  they try to emulate the African American culture while not actually being close to any persons of a different race. So in their minds,  I'm to be envied for an upbringing that I never even recognized as being unique for a person as white as I.

Now there are quite a few black folk who live in this neighborhood and almost as it were predestined,  I've very quickly befriended most of them. As it were though,  these folks are nothing like the friends I've grown up with.  Like this area I've recently entered seems to be completely backwards, the black people around here are very indistinguishable from the white ones. Skin tone aside of course. Being as that is,  very peculiarly the white youths of this area all try to act like the black friends I've grown up with.  Unfortunately for them,  they have never been around black people from the city so their actions only reflect the black stereotypes they've see in the media. This quite obviously makes them ripe picking for ridicule as they appear quite foolish.  

While these young white hoodlums try to emulate African American culture,  they simply make a mockery of the race and receive little to no respect from anyone outside of their tight-knit circle. It is because of this I feel certain hostilities from these young men.  There is a level of envy and jealousy directed towards me even though I've never shown any ill will for any of them.

  They make a constant show of trying to get me to partake in their smoking and drinking.  As they already know the answer before they even make the offer, they go out of their way to offer just so I will turn them down and give them in their minds, good reason to ridicule me. As I've said before,  my previous friends respected my choices and thought nothing of me turning down their offers.  These fools on the other hand show me no such respect. They think less of me for not partaking in these illegal vices.  As if they were living life to the fullest while I being some kind of prudish dullard, simply could not fathom the true pleasures of this world. It's almost as if they think I'm just be looking down my nose at them. On the contrary,  I have no problem with how they choose to spend their time.  I just prefer to see the world through clear lenses.  I enjoy feeling every facet of life. I embrace the Pain and jubilation of life without wanting to numb the pain to enhance the jubilation. I believe life is to be experienced as it is.  I feel no need to try and alter my perception of the world.  To me that is missing out on the pleasures of living, not enhancing them. That being that,  I feel I've more than explained where my current status with these punks lie.

We reach the park at last and even though my back is turned to these honky bandits, I can feel their half opened eyes staring daggers into me. My sister is climbing the jungle gym and frolicking around as a child can be expected to do. "You can't catch me!" She shouts as she pegs me in the arm and takes off running like she just stole a cops donut.

Now even though I'm not one to care what others opinions of me may be,  there's no way I'm going to be seen chasing a little girl around in public while a group of slack jawed hillbilly wannabe "gangstas" sit idly by watching and judging my every move. I can only imagine the unintelligent garble that would spew from their crooked tooth pie holes. As much as I may love my sister,  a few minutes of her joy can in no way justify what I'm sure would be an endless array of crude gossip and sophomoric utterances aimed at me for an undetermined amount of time thereafter the occurrence of this incident.   

After a minute or so of running in circles my sister came to the realization that I was not in pursuit. "C'mon you fathead you're no fun!" She starts taunting me as if such a childish showing would elicit the response she is looking for. "Na na na too slow! Must be your big fat head slowing you down na na!" She really is acting quite unbelievable. Even so I should consider myself quite lucky she is not like that of the youth of today.  She behaves as a child her age should.  I believe it is because of the way I carry myself that she acts in a way appropriate of her age.  Perhaps a quick explanation of today's youth is in order to put things into the proper context.

  While you see my little sister of ten years old behaves in such a carefree manner,  it is the attitude a child should have.  In my time on this planet,  even the way I so behaved as a child,  I've observed that children tend to act in very crude ways. Now growing up as a young boy, a certain immaturity is to be expected. My friends and I from being as young as seven years old to the present have used curse words in almost an artistic fashion. What Michelangelo was to sculpting,  we are to swearing.  As sophisticated as I may come across to strangers,  I am in no way a person to me emulated. As a matter a fact,  you have been reading this and most likely contemplating that you are unaware of any teenagers speaking in the manner that I do.  Well that is because I only choose to be so articulate when speaking to those that I do not know.  Once one gets to know me on a personal level,  you will come to understand the crude immaturity I am very much capable of.

 It is not just a matter of using bad words and spewing out toilet humor. I am quite proficient in holding lengthy conversations about sex and the acts leading up to and following.  I, as with my friends,  speak of our sexual experiences often. In reality though, we are just trading made up stories intertwined with things we have seen in R rated movies and pornography. Though I have had some sexual experience with girls my age, i am not close to the playboy I try to portray. I will perhaps speak more on this later.  As for now though let's get back to how my behavior translates to my younger sisters.

Around her,  as with all members of the female sex, I do not curse nor discuss such vulgarity. Even though it was not taught to me,  I've always held myself to a higher standard of presentation when speaking to females, adults, and strangers in general.  Combine this with my views on using illegal substances and you can see how my sister was able to develop in the way that she has. Children of her age, as was the case with my friends and I, are in general vulgar creatures lacking in proper manners and self control.  To me it is the parents and siblings that are at fault for the improper development of these children.  As a parent you cannot behave yourself in the manner of a low life pimp or dirty street walker and expect your children to grow up being upstanding citizens. You cannot speak as an uneducated trucker would and believe your children would master the English language as that of a scholar.  Conversely, using proper language and manners in your day to day life will lead to a child knowing how to properly act.

 Children are as sponges and soak up the knowledge given to them. A quick example of this would be the plight of a toddler I was recently told about.  Last week one of the more respectable neighborhood punks told me of his friends younger brother. This young boy's mother has grown into such a severe alcoholic that she cannot function without being in a constant state of inebriation. Well as this child being a sponge to knowledge and all has unfortunately grown to replicate his mother's speech mannerisms. Being that she is in a constant state of drunkenness,  she cannot speak without exhibiting an extreme slur in her words.  As for how this pertains to the child,  he has, as not being around others to learn from, developed the same severe slur in his speech. The difference being of course that he is but a toddler and though not consuming alcohol himself, has taken up the mannerisms of a drunkard. It is such a sad state of affairs to hear of a young child growing up as a sober drunk. As depressing as it may be though, this proves what I have been trying to convey.  My point being made I shall continue with my current situation.

My sister having tried every trick in the book, looks to have finally given up on having me chase her.  She hops on the merry go round and starts her hollering once again. "C'mon push me!" I just stare at her as I let her request fly over my head.  "Please push me." This time she looks at me with this ever so pitiful expression.  She looks like a kitten who just lost its mother.  I don't have it in me to ignore this plea.

 Now one look at this old broken down contraption would be more than enough to tell any sane person it's not fit for use.  My sister apparently not being sane,  strongly insist I push her no matter how solid my logic against the idea may be. Since talking her out of riding this death machine is clearly out of the picture,  I hope to at least be able to convince her in just a quick ride

 "Alright,  I'll push you for two minutes then we are going home." I said to her in a calm tone hoping she will agree.

"Yay!" She screams as she wraps her arms and legs around the poles. I can already see paint chips falling off onto her pants as the rust underneath pokes through. Add the frigid temperature to the mix and I can hardly see how this could be deemed fun nor can I envision this ending well at all.

  I grab a pole and start pushing with all my might.  Now i don't know if it was rusted stiff or frozen solid,  but i could not get it to budge

"C'mon what are you waiting for?" My sister was getting very impatient and I can see that the cold metal is starting to bother her. "Hurry!" She yelled as she started squirming around.  

With great irritation setting in I started kicking this big metal mother with all I had.  I'm pretty sure I sprained my big toe but I managed to loosen the death grip that prevented this piece of junk from moving. I grasped one of the poles and started walking in a circle. Slowly but surely it started going as my walk turned into a run.

I stop running and start pushing the poles as they pass by. The merry go round is rattling something fierce and I'm pretty sure it's gonna break off and send my sister airborne.  Oh well I think to myself, it was her stupid idea

"Faster faster!" She screams while whirling at what seems to be an subatomic speed. As I push the wind seems to have picked up considerably. It feels like an arctic blast freezing me to the core.  I have no idea how my sister is able to handle it with her little body. She must be all hopped up on caffeine. I notice the gust appear to be aiding in the increased speed as I can no longer catch a pole to push.  

She continues with her screams for me to make this steel contraption to go faster. At this point though I feel it has reached terminal velocity and there is in no way for me to push, pull, or find any other method of making this rusty hunk of chipped painted melted down garbage can looking piece of s**t go any faster.

With one last yelp she tries to let out another shout of "faster" but quickly loses her grip and starts sliding off.  "Stop!" She bellows.

 I try slowing it down as quickly as possible but to no avail. My hands slapping off each pole with a loud thump causes a great stinging sensation.  My sister starts screaming loud enough to wake the dead as her legs are now almost touching the ground.  So out of instinct,  with my hands already throbbing, I make a quick move and grab a pole as it starts to whiz by.

With a great jerk I'm flung to the ground.  It feels like my arm damn near ripped off my body and I'm pretty sure my hand is bleeding.  Before I have a chance to take stock of the damage I've endure I look up to see my sister's boots coming towards my face at incredible speed. I jump backwards landing sprawled out on my back in an attempt to avoid a missile dropkick straight to my grill.  Sadly to say, this backfired in the worst possible way.

 "Ahhhhhh help!" My sister screamed as she slid off the merry go round.  She was going so fast it took me a minute to register what had happened.  I slumped over on my side with a sickening pain in my guts. Gasping for air I come to realize what had occurred.  

As she slid off she made one final grab at the pole.  The paint came off in her hand and she flew off the side of the merry go round feet first.  As I jumped back to protect my face my legs went up in the air leaving me open for the worst kind of assault.  Both of her feet, heavy boots and all, were right on target as she plowed right into my crotch like some kind of unstoppable Juggernaut.

Now before I continue there is one thing I like to straighten out.  Women claim giving birth is a far more intense pain than getting kicked in the balls could ever be.  Well I disagree with that and here is my very simple yet logical argument.  I believe getting kicked in the family jewels is far more painful than giving birth for one simple fact.  Some time after giving birth a woman may think to herself, "I want to have another baby."  While as a man I can fullheartedly tell you this.  No matter the amount of time elapsed since the first nut shot, you will never hear a man say, "I think I would like to get kicked in the balls again." Even the thought of such testicular trauma is enough to send chills up a man's spine.

Laying on the ground many things are going through my head.  Mostly though it's just my testicles floating around in my brain. I look at my sister and she has tears in her eyes.  "I scraped my elbow." Some how I can't seem to manage any sympathy.

All I wanted to do was take a peaceful walk and think about life.  Now I'm laying on the ground in a puddle of my own anguish. This is not how I pictured my weekend to start.  At least things can't get much worse.

All of a sudden I hear a sound that was previously blocked out by my own pain. It's hysterical laughter.  I look over and the punks sitting on the bleachers are doubled over with pure giddiness having watched my whole spectacle. Son of a b***h! I'm never going to hear the end of this.  

 I look in the other direction and my sister is running around again.  Suddenly she comes at me full speed and plants a fist square into the side of my head and then makes a mad dash for the jungle gym. "Tag You're it!"  I hear her say as her voice trails off in the distance.

I put my face against the ground as I try not to puke.  "I think I'm just going to lay here for a little while." I manage to say. I should of just chased her when she asked the first time.